Tag Archives: Thoughts About Life

The World And I

(Part 1)

I once was young,
From within innocence sprung.
But now I am old,
And my heart has grown cold.

Scales have formed,
My Skin has ceased to be warm.
I waste all feeling here;
My face, lost in a mirror.

Death is all around me.
Its time for he,
And I to dance now.
Forever dance forever bow.

But to whom is the question asked.
If we all would tear off our masks,
We would see that underneath,
We are the same beneath.

In the deep there is a voice,
A soft and timid voice,
Like a child lost and scared,
It pretends to have life to share.

Don’t look don’t heed
For there is death in the deed.
A liar is he
And on our flesh he will feed.

Oh all is lost, see we now
As we fall and ask how
Could it be that I would kill me.
That I would die for a lie.

Ah, that is the question man,
How is it we think we are so grand
When we can’t even see.
In darkness we breed.

We fester more hate.
Death we create.
We try to apply our will,
But then we get stuck with the bill.

Our lives are short and quick
Like a candle burning up its wick.
A doomed species are we
As our disease feeds.

This attention to ourselves has become,
Like a child sucking on his thumb
For a time too long
Thumb and food don’t get along.

So the child dies
None to wise
To see that it was he
Who would not be.

There is an end
With no age limit to pretend
Beneath it we are safe
Only death is promised us to taste.

(Part 2)

But wait not truthful am I
There is a way by
This death we have made.
It will not reign today.

Shattered was He
The One who would bleed
On His flesh the child meant to feed
But that would never be.

For this broken One
Was greater than the little son
Of darkness bred
And ill, sin fed.

A mighty King is He
Redeemed we when upon His tree.
Beneath its roots he slept
But at third dawns light He lept.

Scales have fallen off.
I have lost deaths cold cough.
Belief has been given me
And for no fee indeed.

It was we who put up His tree
It was He who paid our fee.
Life is new and young.
From within new wells have sprung.

The dance has been done
The Savior has won.
Our life we cannot claim
We gave it up when death reigned

The child’s head is crushed
We no longer have to rush
Here and there trying to find
Where we left our minds.

Renewed intellects
Empowered without the use of checks.
New creatures are we
Destined forever to be.

To be by His side
To never again die.
Never to lie
Or in darkness abide.

Children of the Light,
Remember our plight
We must never forget
That we have been picked.

Commissioned to life and works
Death has done his worst.
Don’t lose sight of our fight
For we might die tonight.

The victory flag already waves
We have no permanent graves.
Precious child now don’t be afraid
Father has conquered Satan today.

by Ryan Wormald

The Spark

There once was a spark
That burned hot and true
He traveled in the heavens,
Burned his way through

He fell to the earth
To play his great part,
He came here to burn,
To ignite a dead heart.

A flame he was not,
But nots can change
When they meet that,
They burst into flames.

That which they require
Is nothing less
Than that which burns
A flammable substance.

Any matter will do
A heart it can be,
And many times it is.
Something that meaty.

When hearts do burn
Hot and bright
Sparks where the reason
Why they did ignite.

This spark came forth,
Born in eternity past,
To came here hence
To burn bright at last.

When hearts do meet
Sparks turn to flames,
And burn us all,
To combine our names.

by Ryan Wormald

The Lonely Path

There is a path understood by none
But he that walks its way.
A path only traveled by some
Barely visible in the day.
This path isn’t wide nor groomed
Nor is easy to walk upon
The trees are mean in their bloom
And sing a sad sorry song.
Men who tread a path this hard
Are often mocked by the throng
But there is a time not too far
When these men will be gone.
Then this lonely path will disappear
Will grow its foliage down
For no man will be walking there
For no man will be found.

 

-Coram Deo

Purest Love a Sonnet

We stand to fall and live within defeat,
Our life is cursed and now can only hope
Our cries do not forget whom they’re to meet.
Oh, that my cries would bring a saving rope

To we, and from my misery save me.
We flounder alone in water so deep it drowns
Our souls, our life, and all we were to be,
But what is this my eyes doth see, a crown

That shines with life for me, a face that bleeds,
With pain it screams, a love of pure display.
Who is this King who plants purest of seeds?
I now am sure it t’was for Him we prayed.

The King who left behind an empty tomb,
The King who saved us out of certain doom.

by Ryan Wormald

Petrol

My heart is soaked in petrol
And I am in fear of many things
For all that surrounds me
Seems to burst into flames.

There is a fire in her bosom
There is a fire in her eyes
If I get too near to her
I might catch a fire.

Look at all that money there
At those little feet a dancing
There is much danger there
And an evil uprising.

Oh those little flames are hard to see
And if I get too close, that it will be;
My end will too quickly come
And in fire my sin will consume me.

Be careful child of the fire
For around us it lies
Seeking petrol to burn
And flesh to turn to lye.

Our hearts at any second
May burst into flames
Not sparks to be put out
But unholy consuming flames.

My precious friend I implore
This you must do and find
If you wish to live next door
To this petrol world of crime.

There is a red water
From a side it once flowed
And there must your heart live
Underneath that holy flow.

For in this red water
Lies many attributes
In it fire may spread no farther
And in it the heart becomes new.
The fire that burns all around
In eyes and hands and pretty things.
In this water does drown
And cease their dreadful burnings.

When a heart in petrol lay
Meets with water so pure.
There night becomes day
And flames loose their lure,

And there a heart won’t
As easily like to burn
And there it becomes anew
As water’s attributes it learns.

Then in the end we find
A heart a fresh anew
Now very hard to turn to lye
As dead things become new.

by Ryan Wormald

Pale and Paler

Pale and Paler went together down
To hew a tale and watch him drown.
They left the road and went around
Saw him fall and hit; the last sound.

On their journey far and wide
They touched a girl and watched her cry.
The doctors cut and let him die
Ate her spirit as it passed them by.

Along they went to the time
Drinking the blood of many a mind
Until they crossed the most sacred line
And fell beneath the fiery rind.

by Ryan Wormald

Mother

She is the flower of love’s fair
And the ship that brought us there.
She kisses the wounds on our knees
And calls us down from the tree.
She is warm apple ciders draught
After snow forts in an empty lot.
She is the tears that run down
When your choices introduce the ground.
She is the one who spelled fun
And showed us games under the sun.
She is a bent knee and clasped hands
And a whispered prayer to the Man.
She is the one who will cry on the day
Her training completes and you move away.
She is the hand of strength to little legs
Too weak to walk in those early days.
She is the song in a lullaby
And your home tell she dies.
Who has had such a friend as her?
Like your God given blessed mother.

by Ryan Wormald

Love Not in Dreams

Dreams can be pitiful things,
When your secret love in them flies.
They do to you terrible things,
When you see your hidden love’s eyes.

She torments me in my dreams,
This love who knows not my name.
There she does to me dreadful things,
And treats my love like a game.

Then I awake to see her not,
The love who knows not my name,
But in my heart I still rot,
To wish she’d love me all the same.

by Ryan Wormald

Lost Fools

What do you seek or wish to find?
Is it in a week, or about time?
Do you want more or less,
And would it slant the press?

Tomorrow would leave you blind,
If you only could keep your mind.
The cake in your hand has been lost and is gone,
And your stomach has been empty for far too long.

Honesty will only discover what you seek,
And It will have to last you more than a week.
The hour is short, and will likely be gone,
And you might be left, alone thinking to long.

Life Speaks

Of all the pretty birds and flowers,
That I heard speaking to me,
None were as loud as the showers,
Or that little Pekingese.

Their whispers told of a time,
Held before this date,
When the hills began to climb
And the seas did abate.

Its was long ago in a land not far,
The whisperers began to speak,
They talked of life around a star,
And said something about a week.

Time has now here and gone
To never here return,
And I have tried to push on,
But life holds me firm.

I know one thing I’ve learned it well,
Some people love a lie,
They don’t want us to tell,
Of the souls they do buy.

They act like there’s nothing to say,
About that epoch before
Or what came about on that day;
The whisperers they try to ignore.

But ignore them we cannot,
Not even if we tried.
For they now show us our lot,
From them we cannot hide.

They are found here and there,
In everything that is made.
In the light they are so clear,
How could this be a façade?

Listen once, I’ll tell you now,
You are going to die,
So now you must question how,
Does that fly, fly.

Well with wings of course,
Not of himself made.
But formed with thoughtful force,
Around a foundation laid.

You see it was God who made us all,
And all prove him.
Life’s whispers sing praises at His ball,
And they glorify Him

by Ryan Wormald
10-6-04

Death by Sugar

This is my story
This is my time
How I lived on sugar
And how by sugar I died.

This tale may be sweet
But not without its bite
I loved my sugar
But sugar let me die.

Sugar she seduced me
Captured me with her touch
Laid her hands in me
And took way too much.

I knew I was prejudice
To eat only that substance.
To sugar was my debt
And sugar called its presence.

I despised whole food
Only to beckon sugar’s call
But sugar was empty
So empty I did fall.

Sugar offers her hand,
But its not truly there
She only offers lies,
She doesn’t really care.

You may believe the lie:
She is what you need,
But soon that will die,
As she, on you feeds.

I guess in truth’s stare
It wouldn’t be so bad,
If it wasn’t just me
Who became so sad.

My friend, listen well
She isn’t worth the pain,
She may seem so sweet,
But its bitterness you gain

by Ryan Wormald

Apathy Kills Herself

Go ahead and burn.
Soak yourself and ignite.
Its about time you fry,
And crawl after the worm.

Every step is closer still,
Deeper into Hell you go.
Always seeking after the thrill,
And going out for the show.

You spit at all the good,
And yet hope for the best.
Why can’t you do as you should,
And stop beating your chest.

Your face makes me sicker still.
While you have lost the race,
And victory doesn’t come in a pill,
Nor can you buy your place.

Apathy, you though, was nice,
But for it you will pay time.
Your closed mind feeds your vice,
While false beliefs compound your crime.

By your withheld hand,
Did many an innocent die.
Your complacent demands
Helped their killers lie.

You told yourself and them,
That life is found outside.
What a fanciful ugly whim,
And a sure way to die.

Can’t you see the sight.
You’re the one to blame.
You’ve killed all that’s right;
Have brought us all to shame.

This world in which you fight
Has no innocence still.
You have not improved its plight
But rather have helped it kill.

Give up your selfish climb
See your not the cure,
Perhaps you’ll escape the lime,
If you only look to the Pure.

by Ryan Wormald
5-10-04

Alone

A thought I had once or twice
Never followed by good advice
It rips a weary soul apart
And it weakens my dreary heart
It is not good for man to be afraid
To live life alone each and every day

These thoughts that come to me
Come to stay and never leave
Bring tears of pain and sorry sounds
I drink those tears and I drown.
It is not good for man to be alone
It is not good to have an empty home.

by Ryan Wormald

A Melody of Strings

The piano strings bring to my mind beautiful things,
As the butterfly spreads its wings and flies away.
The sun lights the trees and tells me its spring.
As the rose pedals color bright my day.
The touch from the hand is softer still,
Than the breeze on my warm cheek.
Just as love in time is more than the thrill
So deepens the care of the willing and meek.
Dreams bring images of kisses and daises
As soft running streams drown sorrows away.
Even the quite voice carries far across the sea,
As the rising sun brings to us the warm day,
And the lovers kiss carries more with it,
Than the evening, tropical, pattering rain.
And it’s the quieter softer things that better fit
A world of love and peace without the pain.

by Ryan Wormald

The World Without a Flower

The world without a flower
Got lost in a name.
And when it found the tower
It only discovered pain.

In a stone laden shower
Men were left not the same.
And when they found the flower
Its petals they did claim.

It is the stone laden tower
That showers men in pain,
In this world without a flower,
Till the flower returns to reign.

By Ryan Wormald

6-12-08

The Life of Love

Wrought in depths of feeling’s light,
It may falter in the night.
Through a spark it was conceived,
But now it lives on in deed.

Mere words cannot express
The feelings in one’s chest.
But in their solemn absence
Will the words still make sense?

Proof is in a pudding’s taste,
But not a heart’s pounding race.
Actions are the truer words
Beyond the bees and the birds.

Emotions are the lesser sense,
When deeds live on in the absence.
Works wrought upon the icy breast
Mold more than words would impress.

In a covenant’s demands,
Actions over words must stand.
Important to the fight are both,
But one binds with stronger rope.

Love is fragile in the tones,
Where it loans more than it owns.
But the acts build stronger homes,
Anchored in cement and stone.

by Ryan Wormald

5-11-09